Atonement
by KSCrusaders
Summary: The battle lines are drawn.  The collision course, set.  After two dangerous apostates flee Kirkwall, Prince Sebastian Vael hurtles a confrontation that can only end in blood.  Post-DA2, some Lady Hawke/Anders, character death.  COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Atonement**

_By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)_

_Part One_

A healer in a village, halfway along the road between Kirkwall and Ostwick.

It was the only scrap of information he had, and even that was uncertain. But after a year of hunting prey that vanished like dust each time he drew near, he was willing to take anything he could get. He had one more task to complete before he could continue his search.

Prince Sebastian Vael knelt on the ruins of the Chantry, a bouquet of white roses in hand. A year later, no one had rebuilt the Kirkwall Chantry. There wasn't the time or the resources, with still no Viscount and the templar order licking its wounds. The few surviving priests and brothers stayed in the Gallows, under Knight-Commander Cullen's watch. Sebastian stepped over the low wooden blockade surrounding the building's foundations...all that remained of his old life.

His home.

The old hate welled up inside him, sharp and sickening. As the ash and rubble crumbled under his feet, the images began to flash before his eyes again, as they did every night. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but the memories were still too fresh.

The beacon of brilliant light. Anders, silhouetted against its glow. The screams of despair and astonishment. The shockwave that knocked them all to their knees.

And Natale Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke, reaching for the murderer's hand and pulling him to his feet. Hawke, who spared the life of an abomination in every sense of the word. Hawke, whose pitiless grey eyes promised his death if he dared pursue the man who sparked a holy war.

She hadn't made a move against him yet. But he hadn't caught up to her either. It was only a matter of time.

"Serah! You are not allowed in these ruins! It isn't safe-"

Sebastian turned around to see Knight-Commander Cullen, picking his way across the fine pebbles and broken stones. Cullen started a little, recognizing him.

"I have come to pay my respects to an innocent woman of faith," said Sebastian evenly. Cullen looked like he wanted to protest, but finally just gave a helpless shrug and waved him forward. Sebastian walked to where the center of the Chantry would have been, laying the white roses at his feet.

There was so little left. That hurt more than anything else. Men could raze cities, but magic...it was as though the Chantry never existed save for a few bits of stone and metal. As though those happy, peaceful years he spent as a brother never happened at all. He closed his eyes and tried to think of Elthina at the Maker's side, once again with the lord she'd served and loved.

"I know saying I'm sorry doesn't help." Cullen's boots made a soft crunching noise as he stood beside Sebastian. "But I am. I truly am. Elthina was-"

"You don't have to be sorry. You weren't the one who did this." He could not keep the hate from shaking his voice.

Cullen frowned. "Perhaps not. But the templars made no move against...certain apostates thanks to the Champion's influence," he said slowly. Neither of them mentioned who, and a very uncomfortable silence fell. "Maybe...maybe if we had done something-"

"If you'd tried, she would've killed you," said Sebastian, remembering the look in Hawke's eyes every time she dealt with the templars. "Make no mistake about that." His hands ran up and down the bow at his side. His grandfather's bow.

Even that had been a gift from Hawke. Sebastian looked down at the finely carved wood, feeling slightly sick. The accursed woman touched every aspect of his life for the last seven years.

The templar watched him thoughtfully. Finally, Cullen asked, "Then why pursue her?"

"It's not her I want," said Sebastian. It wasn't true, but the sound of the words helped. "I cannot rest knowing that the monster who did this walks free." Sebastian turned to go, but Cullen's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Prince Vael...do you know how many templars they've killed in the past year?"

Sebastian swallowed, gathering his resolve and his anger against the sudden stab of fear. He didn't know. And he didn't want to know.

"The righteous stand before the darkness. And the Maker shall guide their hand." He didn't not turn or look back. The time for compromise was over. The time for peace was over.

Hawke and Anders had made certain of that.

* * *

><p>Every step hurt. Not for the first time in her life, Natale Hawke cursed the fact that she'd always been rubbish at healing. Apparently the Amell mages were better suited to killing people than fixing them. The arrow wounds felt older, duller, but that would have to be enough for now.<p>

One hundred steps. Two hundred steps. She didn't have far to go. But the final ascent was still almost nauseating even in the foothills of the Vinmark Mountains. Her side jarred with pain every time she planted her feet.

She clenched her teeth, and white light briefly played around her hands, little sparks of lightning flickering in the air. The soft, muddy ground sucked at her boots, and she was forced to lean on her staff like an old woman, the blue crystal striking little flames every time it hit stone.

Anders, she thought. Think of Anders. She brought his image to the forefront of her mind-his gentle brown eyes, his warm half-smile, the cooling magic in his touch. Anders had patched up dragon burns and purged spider poison before. What were a few holes in her side?

A bark roused her from her pain, and she couldn't help by smile. Calenhad bolted out of a narrow crevice in the side of the mountain, barking with joy and splashing in the puddles. But he stopped in his tracks when he got closer, whining at the smell of blood on her.

"It's ok, old boy," Natale whispered, leaning down stiffly to scratch his ears. "I'll live." She made her way to the opening of the crevice, leaning against the stone. With some effort, she pulled a knife from her belt, drawing just a little blood from her palms. She closed her eyes and allowed her senses to expand, ignoring the now stabbing pain in her side and Calenhad's startled yelp.

Animals, a few more than usual in the labyrinthine cave complex thanks to the pouring rain of the last few days. Nothing important. She wiped the blood from her hands, taking a few deep breaths and cursing under her breath. Her head pounded, and she knew further magic was out of the question. Instead, she followed Calenhad into the cave, trusting the dog's nose where her own eyes failed. The smell of damp assaulted her senses...bringing with it an odd sense of comfort.

Home for now. Though if today was any indication, not for long.

This was the longest she'd dared stay in an area, but it worked to her advantage. The caves were too narrow for smugglers or criminals to use, and she and Anders had cleared out the spiders infesting the place tunnel by tunnel, room by room. Her boots echoed off the stone as the light from outside quickly faded, leaving her in total darkness.

She reached out her fingers, feeling for Anders' magical barrier. It met her touch like a wall of ice, barely shimmering in the dim light. Natale pushed ever so gently-a knock rather than a kick.

A moment later, the barrier evaporated, only to reappear behind her and Calenhad as they walked deeper into the cave. She could see warm, flickering firelight around a bend in the corridor, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Anders sat against the wall of the cave in a little opening, barely larger than her old closet in Kirkwall. Clothes, papers, bits of supplies lay in neat piles all around the floor. He leaped to his feet when he saw her.

"Maker's breath, what kept you?" he asked, his voice sharp with worry. "You were supposed to be back hours ago!"

Natale grimaced and swayed a little on the spot; in a moment, Anders was at her side, steadying her.

He looked at the cold sweat on her brow, her paper-white face, and felt his heart clench. "Templars?"

She shook her head. "Don't think so. Help me with this first, will you?" He helped her sit, leaning her against the rough wall while he stripped her of her heavy, damp armor and tossed it next to the fire.

She managed a grin for him. "You're getting alarmingly good at undressing me."

Anders returned the smile-strained, but a smile nonetheless. "What can I say? I've had four years of practice." He unhooked the chestpiece and loosened the straps on her undershirt, lifting it to take a look at the arrow holes. They still bled slightly and stained the fabric red, the entry wounds jagged and torn from the barbs that still stuck in her pale skin.

"Did you happen to keep an arrow?" he asked tersely.

Natale nodded and gestured to the pocket inside her chest armor. Anders picked through it before coming up with a slender arrowhead. He examined it carefully, then frowned.

"Hmm. Nathaniel used to use bolts like these; the barbs break off and dig into the skin. Painful, but nothing lethal." He placed his hands on her side and closed his eyes, blue light swirling around his body.

Natale always loved watching Anders heal. It was a gift, one that she would never understand or have. He ran his hands along her exposed skin, little tingles of magic and warmth purging the pain, knitting her wounds shut. There was a flash, then a rush, and Anders opened his eyes, breathing hard.

He pulled out the arrowhead again, very careful not to touch its edges. Something about it looked familiar, and it filled him with a sense of foreboding.

"Who shot at you?" he asked.

Natale stretched her limbs and body cautiously; no pain, no fatigue. Anders really was a miracle worker. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. It had all happened so fast as she was on her way back from the village. She frowned, thinking. "About five men. Soldiers, I think. Too well organized to be troublemakers looking for a quick bounty."

Anders didn't bother asking about survivors. If she was alive, they weren't. The Champion of Kirkwall was not known for mercy or charity. Instead, he snapped his fingers and raised the small fire in the center of the room, placing a makeshift kettle over it. He sighed, staring into the flames.

"I'd hoped we could stay here longer," he said quietly. "It's been nice having some place to go to for more than a few days."

"And foolish," said Natale. She got gingerly to her feet; everything seemed to be in order. For the umpteenth time, she began to pack things away before she felt Anders' hand on her arm.

"You need rest, love."

"We need to move. I'm sorry to put you through this again-I know you liked the villagers."

He didn't meet her eyes. "Do you think..." His voice trailed off as his hands glowed, feeling for the magical barrier that stood between them and half the Chantry's armies.

"Not on purpose. But word gets around...and certain people know you have healing powers." Her voice suddenly hardened, and she gave a mirthless laugh. "No rest for the wicked."

It took her precious little time to pack up everything they needed. One of the benefits of magic was the ability to travel lightly. She finished putting away their bedrolls just in time for Anders to hand her a mug of hot tea.

"If you won't rest, at least have something to drink before we go," he said. He watched as she accepted the tea quietly-her lovely pale face sharpened and hardened from a year on the run, her long hands calloused and slightly scarred. He had once asked her if she regretted it, losing everything she worked so hard for in Kirkwall for a difficult cause and a dangerous man.

She'd smiled, a real smile that warmed her tired eyes, called him a fool, and said no.

"Ready?" asked Natale, snapping Anders from his reverie.

"Always," he replied. His hands glowed again as he dispelled the barrier, and the two of them began heading deeper into the cave complex for the other exit, the lyrium glow of her staff lighting their way.

It wasn't until they'd squirmed their way, packs and all, out of the cave and into the damp night air that Calenhad started to snarl. She shushed the dog and put out the staff, all of them listening intently.

Nothing. But the hairs on the back of her head began to prickle. She took one step, then another-and all hell broke loose.

Arrows showered the ground, deflected at the last second by Anders' magic. Natale swore under her breath, her eyes beginning to glow red along with her staff. Lightning played around her hands and she lashed out into the darkness.

Ten men, silhouetted against the jagged sparks of lightning. She whistled for Calenhad, who leaped for the closest assailant and tore out his throat with a single savage shake.

Soldiers, she thought in a kind of disconnected trance as magic and thunder crashed around them, are no match for a cornered mage. Blood pounded in her ears, and she followed its scent. She needed no sight, no sound-she could feel the pulse of life inside her prey.

The temptation rose, as it always did, to take a little more. Push a little harder. She forced it down, energy crackling like a maelstrom. Screams, then a few disconnected thumps as bodies hit the ground, and it was all over. Anders knelt over one of the bodies, looking stricken.

"Natale-" He pulled a scrap of cloth from the dead soldier's armor.

She looked down at the crest, feeling a weight of lead drop into her stomach. "Starkhaven," she said slowly. By the light of her staff, she inspected each of the other bodies, all bearing the insignia of the Vaels.

No fear. No vengeance. These were luxuries, and on the run for their lives, she did not have time for either. Instead, she carefully and deliberately removed the crests from each of the ten soldiers, burned their bodies to ash, and left the little scraps of cloth in a neat pile at the site of the massacre.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving Sebastian a warning." She looked down at her hands. She had spilled more blood, both innocent and enemy, in the last year than in her entire tenure as Champion. How many more would she have to slay?

Anders hesitated, then came to stand by her side. "Natale...it's me he wants."

"And he'll have to come through me," she said fiercely. And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the forest, leaving the dead in her wake.

* * *

><p>"Blessed be the souls of the faithful, that they ascend to Your right hand."<p>

The words stuck in his throat. He tried again. On the third try, the prayer came, and so did the rage. She was taunting him. Showing him that no army, no soldier, could ever hope to snare her or her abomination.

He looked down at the torn scraps of uniform, scattered among piles of ash and scorch marks in the ground. The smoky tang of lightning and magic was long gone, but he didn't have to imagine it. He knew it all too well personally.

Fifteen good men lost to Hawke in one day. Fifteen men with wives, families...children. Who bent before him and swore to defend Starkhaven. And he rewarded their loyalty by throwing them at the most powerful maleficar in the Free Marches the moment he had an opportunity. He closed his eyes.

Unbidden, the desire demon's words came floating out of his memory...in _her_ voice. _All you have to do is kill anyone who stands in your way. _

He thought of the gentle sisters in the Chantry. Of the templars. Of Elthina. He was doing it for her, for all the innocents slaughtered in the war they had started. Sebastian gathered up the scattered bits of cloth and called for his captain.

"Your Highness?"

"Return these men's effects to their families," said Sebastian. "I'll need a few scouts to pick up their trail. Do not engage Hawke; just let me know if you find them."

Captain Alrain bowed slightly and began heading back to camp. Sebastian followed in silence, resigning himself to another night of restless, uneasy sleep.

He would not truly rest until he had Anders' head on a spike.


	2. Chapter 2

**Atonement**

_By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)_

_Part Two_

Natale hated cities.

Yes, it was easy to get lost in the crowds. Yes, they could blend in with other travelers and refugees. But in the cities, the tales were the tallest, and the tongues were the loosest. One mistake on her part could bring the whole of the city guard-and eventually the templars-down upon their heads.

She wrapped a scarf around her distinctive platinum blonde hair as she, Anders, and Calenhad picked their way through the crowded streets of Ostwick. She could hear the vendors hawking their wares, smell the early morning street food, and a terrible wave of homesickness for Kirkwall made her pause.

The Lowtown bazaar. Breakfast with Isabela and Varric at the Hanged Man. A bottle of Denarius's fine wine with Fenris in the evenings. Natale bit her lip and hid her face inside her cloak hood, only to feel Anders' hand on her shoulder.

He'd noticed. He always noticed. He took her hand in his and gave it a firm squeeze. Natale squared her shoulders and smiled up at him, squeezing back.

"Copper for a lead, miss? Copper, sir?" A young girl with dirty blonde pigtails darted in front of Anders, almost underfoot. He stopped himself at the last moment from crashing into her.

Natale looked down at the girl and thought for a moment. They weren't exactly pressed for time, but the sooner she was out of the crowds, the happier she would be. It was time to call upon an old acquaintance to pay back her debt. She jingled the coins in her pocket and smiled at the girl.

"Get us to the bazaar just outside the alienage around the guards, and it'll be three," she said. The urchin gave her a quick grin, then took off into the crowd, Natale and Anders following in her wake.

Anders raised an eyebrow at her. "What exactly are you planning?" he asked as he narrowly dodged a mother with two children in her arms.

"I'm calling in a favor," she said tersely. He looked like he wanted to ask more, but she shook her head. Now was not the time. The urchin zigzagged through Ostwick's streets, which grew narrower as the buildings became taller and more ramshackle. Natale wrinkled her nose, neatly sidestepping the sewage and garbage on the sides of the street.

The crowds thinned out a little in Ostwick's slums before the alley opened up into a small but bustling bazaar with mostly elven merchants in front of the walls of the alienage. Anders dropped three coppers into the blonde girl's palm, watching her disappear again into the crowd with a quick wave.

"Natale...not that this isn't lively, but why are we here?"

She ignored him. Instead, she knelt and whispered an order into Calenhad's ear. The mabari left her side to stand next to Anders, who was watching her with increased suspicion.

"We'll need some supplies," she said over the hubbub. "Keep an eye on your coinpurse, and keep Calenhad with you. I'll be just a moment."

"Trust me," she added. And implicitly, he did. She watched him walk away to one of the stalls, Calenhad on his heels.

The third house on the left of the flower stall, with the small lion-mouthed knocker. She moved up to the door and rapped softly. "Ella?"

A pair of large brown eyes peeked out at her through a crack in the door. "It's you!" And before Natale could blink, Ella threw her arms around the former Champion, travel-worn armor and all, and all but dragged her into the dim little room. Natale kicked the door closed behind her, smiling in spite of herself.

"You were expecting someone else?" she asked, gently prying Ella's arms off her neck.

"I was afraid that it might be some kind of trick," said the girl. She snapped her fingers, and slim tapers in the hallway shed light on her anxious, round face. She looked stronger, healthier than when Natale rescued her from Alrik's men over four years ago.

Natale followed Ella down the hallway into a cramped but clean kitchen, watching the girl shut the curtains and light candles. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know I've put you in terrible danger by coming here."

Ella gave her a smile, such a sweet and trusting smile that Natale had to turn her face to hide her guilt. "I owe you my life...my freedom. If there's anything I can do for you, I'll do it."

Natale sighed and got to her feet. It was time to put that promise to the test. "Then wait here," she said. "There's someone else with me, and we both need safe harbor." She got to her feet and opened the front door, only to find herself face-to-face with Anders.

He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice if you disappeared into some random house?" he said.

Natale glared at Calenhad, who tipped his head at her and whined softly. Apparently keeping Anders off of her was a bit of a tall order for a mabari faced with a determined apostate. She sighed and rubbed her temples, bracing for the worst.

"Anders, I..."

Footsteps behind her, then silence. No one breathed. No one moved.

Then Ella said in a trembling but clear voice, "Come in. Please." The door closed behind Anders, who looked down at Natale with stricken eyes.

"It's all right," she said soothingly, knowing it never would be. She led a dazed and unresisting Anders back into the kitchen by the hand, pushing him into a chair and opting to stand herself. Ella's large, frightened eyes darted from her to Anders and back again.

"It's all right," repeated Natale. She found herself once again faced with the same terrified girl she'd rescued so many years ago below the Gallows. She moved to place herself between Anders and Ella, but to her astonishment, Ella stepped around her.

Anders turned away, but Ella knelt next to him until he had no choice but to meet her eyes. She looked him straight in the face for almost a minute, neither of them moving. Natale held her breath, her heart pounding in her throat.

Then Ella reached out and tentatively touched his hand. Anders flinched and closed his eyes, tears starting to trickle down his face. He reached up to wipe them away, but Ella took his other hand. "Just a man," she whispered, echoing Natale's words from years ago.

When she finally stood up, her eyes were also wet. She bustled about making them some tea, and Natale felt a bit of the dread leave her stomach. She walked over to Anders and placed a kiss on his forehead, feeling him tremble against her skin.

When she'd found her voice again, Natale said, "Have you any news?"

Ella didn't need to ask what she was referring to. "More templars came into the city two weeks ago, but...I'm not sure what happened. Some of them tried to kill the others, then fled the city."

"A schism? Within the templars?" said Natale incredulously. "I thought they'd at least be united in trying to kill us all."

The girl shook her head. "I don't rightly know. I've been trying to keep out of the trouble as best I can. The Circle-the former Circle-has been free of the templars for a few months now, and the city guard's given up on trying to take them in. They...they kill anyone who tries."

"That's good news. Ostwick is probably safer for the moment than Kirkwall." She took the hot kettle from Ella, whose trembling hands were making the lid shake. Natale poured them three cups, then began pacing Ella's tiny kitchen, musing over this new piece of information.

The Ostwick Circle was free. That was progress, visible progress. But she couldn't seek safe haven there. It would be a fine thing to inspire her fellow mages to rebellion, only to bring Sebastian's men down upon their heads. There was bloodshed aplenty without her using anyone as a human shield.

She needed to send a message to Sebastian, and a clear one. Killing his men while she and Anders fled to Ostwick hadn't been enough. She took a sip of her tea, peeking through the gap in Ella's curtains.

Ostwick's Chantry rose up on the side of the hill opposite the Alienage, all warm wood and golden leaf. A smile spread across Natale Hawke's face.

She knew what must be done. 

* * *

><p>"Your Highness, I beg you, do not do this!"<p>

Sebastian ignored Captain Alrain and continued through Ostwick's docks district, pausing only to string his bow and check his arrows. He took his time, selecting the sharpest, the most balanced among his quiver. Maker willing, that arrow would pierce Anders' throat before nightfall.

"Sire-"

"The alienage is abuzz with rumors of a healer coming to Ostwick three days ago. Do you honestly expect me to just let this go?" His captain's protests fell on deaf ears; the citizens of Ostwick scattered, staring at the man in white armor at the head of a contingent of Starkhaven's finest soldiers.

He'd deal with the political fallout for marching his men straight through Ostwick's gates later. His captain's concerns could wait. Sebastian emerged from the narrow alleyways into the bazaar outside the alienage, blinking at the suddenly bright light.

There. A flash of platinum hair. Before the captain could stop him, Sebastian nocked an arrow and took aim.

He realized too late that it was a setup. Hawke ducked, and his arrow flew past her, straight into the shoulder of one of the merchants. The man froze, huge elven eyes staring at him in horror as he slumped against his cart. The whole bazaar fell silent.

For an instant, he and Hawke locked eyes. Then with two bolts of lightning, she shattered the silence.

Screams erupted around them-two of his men hit the ground with a sickening thud, and Sebastian saw Hawke slipping through the frantic, panicked crowd. He felt Captain Alrain tugging on his arm, trying to pull him back into the alley.

"Your Highness! It's not safe here, we must-"

Sebastian never heard the rest of the sentence. He ripped himself free of Alrain's grasp and took off after Hawke, shoving his way heedlessly through the crowd. Hawke vanished down an alley, and Sebastian gave chase, nocking another arrow as he went.

The buildings were tall and narrow, blocking out the light, but his vengeance gave him focus. This arrow flew truer, leaving a long bloody gash down her left arm. She grunted with pain, but the next thing Sebastian knew, he was on his knees, his whole body wracked with convulsions.

Blood flew from her wounds and wrapped around him like a living skin. Sebastian vaguely heard the yells of his soldiers, but their arrows hit nothing but wood as she turned and fled again. Most of them took off after her, but Captain Alrain remained at his side, trying to pull Sebastian to his feet even though his legs would not obey.

"Go," he managed to choke, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His joints twisted and spasmed, each motion bringing a fresh wave of agony. "I want her dead."

And when the older Captain of Starkhaven whose family had served generations of Vaels hesitated, Sebastian whispered, "That's an order."

_Hail Andraste, Bride of the Maker. I will walk in her light. For blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter.  
><em>  
>Slowly, his limbs came under his control once more, and the phantom pains that wracked his body began to fade. Sebastian pushed himself to his feet.<p>

It wasn't hard following her trail. The bodies of his soldiers and civilians alike lay scattered in her wake. It wasn't until he saw the terror in the eyes of the whispering bystanders that he looked down at the body of a young woman lying on an abandoned doorstep.

She had long silvery hair, just like Hawke. And a Starkhaven arrow lodged in her throat.

"No," Sebastian whispered. She was still warm to the touch. "No!"

A few of his men lay not twenty feet from her, slain with blood magic. He knew what Hawke was doing. And it sickened him to the core...because try as he might to think otherwise, she was right.

He looked at himself, reflected in the woman's dead brown eyes. He did this to her. He told his men to kill Hawke. He sent them after her. Every action had a consequence. He could not have pushed, and expected her not to push back with all the terrible ruthlessness she could muster.

He could almost hear her voice in his head, see the little half-smile she'd worn all those years ago. _Walk away, Sebastian,_ she whispered. _Turn back._

But there was no turning back. Wherever she was, Anders could not be far away. And he had a score to settle with her too. For all the men she'd killed, all the innocents she'd placed in his path. Sebastian got to his feet and followed the trail of bodies through the terrified crowd-from the docks of Ostwick to the steps of its Chantry. 

* * *

><p>Natale Hawke was not usually the praying type. But this time, she prayed that Anders hadn't come off all noble at the last minute and stuck around. Sebastian was now gunning for her, and she intended to keep it that way.<p>

She watched as he approached the Chantry's steps. Watched his eyes widen when she held a knife to his captain, slumped at her feet. And waited calmly when he pointed an arrow at her heart.

"A life for a life, Sebastian," she said quietly. "Do you want to be responsible for his death on holy ground?" She smiled and strapped her staff to her back. The long, hideous gash down her arm still bled, and for all her blood magic, the arrow's poison was working its way slowly into her system. She needed Anders' help soon. But she had to give Sebastian one last chance to turn away.

For old times' sake.

Natale spread her bloody hands in a gesture of peace. "Put down your bow, Sebastian."

"And we'll kill each other like civilized people?" he spat. "You're a monster, Hawke."

"You pushed," she said gravely.

Cold grey eyes met blue, and slowly, Sebastian lowered his bow. Natale nudged the captain's body with her foot, sending him rolling down the steps toward his prince. Sebastian knelt to catch him, and she struck.

He reacted instantly, drawing a knife from his belt and flinging it at her. But his arms turned to lead as he threw, and the blade went wide, sticking in her shoulder. Natale swore as the pain broke her concentration, and Sebastian scrambled to his feet.

His next two arrows went wide as he struggled against the failing spell. It was all the time she needed. Natale reached for her staff and a wave of force emanated from the glowing end, knocking Sebastian off his feet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the poison in her blood and the agony in her shoulder.

This time, it took. Blood magic bound him fast at the foot of the Chantry, lying next to the captain, who was stirring slightly now. She had to be quick. Sebastian's eyes were all that moved, staring up at her with horror and hate. A little more blood magic pulled some of the life from his captain into her, and she yanked Sebastian's knife from her flesh.

"Whatever you may believe," she said, laying his knife on his chest, "I do not wish your death. Or the deaths of so many innocents, and so many of your men."

He would live-they both would. The city guard would come, and the Chantry sisters once they stopped wetting themselves. She got to her feet, looking down at her former friend, and couldn't help but pity him. Once, not so long ago, this was all just a bad dream.

"Go home, Sebastian," she called over her shoulder as she walked away. "Before you do something we'll all regret.


	3. Chapter 3

**Atonement**

_By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)_

_Part Three_

"Woman, you're going to be the death of me."

She didn't argue when Anders scolded her like an errant child for the better part of ten minutes, just let his voice wash over her and his soothing hands run along her bloody skin. It was enough that he didn't have a sudden attack of nobility while she was distracting Sebastian so he could slip out of Ostwick. She smiled up at him and touched his arm. "Thank you for not interfering."

Anders gave her the same long-suffering, anguished look he always wore whenever he had to heal her wounds or cure her ills. "Promise me you won't pull a stunt like that again. Sebastian's not worth it." His face hardened when he turned his attention to the deep, inflamed knife wound in her shoulder.

"I won't," she murmured. "If he didn't get the hint, he never will." She turned her face into his touch, marveling at how gentle he was.

"I don't understand why you even bothered in the first place," said Anders, unable to hide the shaking in his voice. "If he hurts you again-" He stopped suddenly, blue light beginning to crackle along his skin. Natale leaned up with some effort and rested her forehead against his.

"Don't worry," she whispered, keeping her voice calm and steady. "I'm right here." Her fingers traced his sharp cheekbones, jaw, the faint blue light around his usually warm eyes. The glow slowly faded, and Anders took a deep breath to calm himself, looking down at her apologetically.

Justice had been relatively quiet over the last year, only coming out on one occasion when she and Anders were cornered by templars. She suspected that the emotional fallout of destroying Kirkwall's Chantry and killing so many innocents had subdued the Fade spirit for the short-term. But whenever she was seriously threatened or hurt, Anders' control frayed. She tried not to think of what he would do if their war took her life before his.

He pushed her back into a reclining position, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry. I just-you and Sebastian never exactly saw eye to eye."

Natale shook her head, wondering how she was going to explain this to Anders, who had disliked Sebastian from the start.

"No," she said slowly, "but I know Sebastian. He makes stupid, impulsive decisions, and people die over them. I wanted to give him the chance to back down." She laughed bitterly. "Friends sometimes push."

Anders' hand squeezed her uninjured shoulder. "I...don't know that I would have been as generous."

"What's done is done, and the ball is in his court now."

"Natale...you don't really believe that."

She closed her eyes and let him work his magic, feeling her flesh slowly knit back together, her blood begin to run clean once more. Physically, she felt fine. Mentally, she longed for this whole charade to be over soon. She didn't mind spilling blood when it was necessary, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. Especially when it was someone she'd known...someone who once trusted her.

"I just wish..." She stopped herself with a frustrated shake of her head and rested her head in Anders' lap. She could wish all she wanted that things had been different. That Meredith hadn't sent for the Right of Annulment a full year before Anders blew up the Chantry. That the Grand Cleric had been arsed to do something about the templars' systematic abuses. That Sebastian wasn't such a goddamned fool.

There was a soft glow through her closed eyes, and she felt Anders press his lips to her forehead, her eyes, her mouth. Then he took both her hands in his and helped her to her feet.

"Come on," he said gently. "You paid for our head start in blood. I'm not about to waste it."

* * *

><p>If Fenris had been with him, this would be a lot easier. Fenris knew what it was like to be on the run. Fenris knew how to survive on his own. He could've helped him hunt down Anders. Fenris had been an ally, a brother in arms during those last tense months in Kirkwall when it seemed like everyone was turning against him.<p>

But none of that mattered. In the end, Fenris stood with Hawke, even after seeing everything she had done. She had fooled him, as she had fooled all the others. Pulled them into an unwinnable cause sparked by a madman under the veneer of friendship and loyalty. But she wasn't going to fool Sebastian.

It was easier traveling on his own. He'd had to leave Alrain in a hospice in Ostwick-he knew that otherwise, his old captain would follow him to the ends of the earth, and no one else was going to die for his cause.

He wasn't going to become her. Or Anders.

By Sebastian's count, twenty three people had died in Ostwick that day, eleven of them innocent bystanders. She ran into their midst. She used them like human shields from his men. All that blood was on her hands.

He no longer prayed for guidance or for peace. He had no use now for either. Instead, when he knelt each night in the sight of the Maker, he prayed for his steps to be swift and his arrows true. Hawke and Anders had a head start after her bloody stunt, but Sebastian was determined. Every day along the coastal road to Hercinia brought him just a little closer to his quarry.

It was so quiet and lonely out on the coast, with nothing but the wind and the whisper of the surf at night. The black sand and gravel crunched under his feet, rough and salty. He awoke at dawn and did not sleep until the moon was high in the sky, ignoring the blisters on his feet and his body's cry for rest.

On the third evening, Sebastian dreamed of home.

_"Death is never justice."_

_"It is my right, my duty-"_

_"Do not interfere, Sebastian!"_

_"All you have to do is kill anyone who stands in your way."_

_Elthina stood in Kirkwall's Chantry, underneath the great golden statue of Andraste. But it was not Elthina as he remembered her. The desire demon's scaly tail snaked out from beneath her robes, and her eyes gleamed from the Grand Cleric's kindly face. She reached out to him with clawed hands, caressing his skin. "Shining prince of Starkhaven," she purred, her talons scraping his scalp._

_Then Lady Harimann's grinning face erupted through the demon's open jaws, there was a flash and thunderclap of red light, and he awoke in his tent, covered in cold sweat._

"Maker, no!"

He stumbled out of the tent like a blind man, crashing into the surf. The cold and salty water surged around him until he was chest-deep in the waves, gasping for air. It stung his eyes, cleared his head, mingling with sweat and the tears he told himself were not there.

Sodden footprints followed him out of the water; he looked away from the shore toward the east. Toward Starkhaven...the only home he had left. Hawke was right. Maker damn her, she was always right. He was losing himself to this madness. He could return home, and never fear her reprisal. She was still a woman of her word.

But he could still see Elthina's face, still hear her voice. The thought of Anders and Hawke getting away with everything they'd done, all the blood they'd spilled, made him sick with rage. He rushed back up the beach toward his camp and tore it apart, taking only his armor and weapons. And then he began to walk along the coast, away from Starkhaven, heedless of his chattering teeth.

Maker help him, if it was the last thing he did on this earth, he would have justice.

He would have _vengeance_.

* * *

><p>Anders woke earlier than he would've liked, just as night was giving way to the cold grey light that preceded dawn. Carefully, he slipped out of the oversized bedroll so he wouldn't wake Natale. She stirred a little and murmured his name; strange that after all these years, that sound could still bring a smile to his face and a flutter in his heart. He stroked her cheek, waiting until she turned back toward the dying embers and fell asleep once more.<p>

Picking up his staff out of habit, Anders walked out toward the waves, the black sand rough under his bare feet. Calenhad barked happily at him, frolicking in the surf. He couldn't help but smile. At least someone was having fun out here. It was too exposed for Anders' comfort. He preferred the hills, where he and Natale had the ability to hide.

"Stop that!" he said as the dog darted up to him with a bit of seaweed dangling from his slobbery jaws. "How often do I have to tell you that I'm a cat person?" He unsuccessfully tried to fend off Calenhad as the dog bounded around him, spraying him with little flecks of seawater and drool.

"Ugh," said Anders, turning up his nose at the smell of salty, wet dog. "How Natale puts up with you, I'll never understand." He started to walk back the camp when he heard Calenhad growl behind him, nose twitching madly into the breeze.

"All right, all right," he called over his shoulder. "We can share-"

Over a hundred pounds of mabari hit his back and sent him spawling facefirst into the wet sand, knocking the wind clean out of him just as an arrow whizzed over his head and found a target. Anders felt the mabari's body shudder, Calenhad's warm weight slumping beside him on the sand, his uneven and wheezing breath along the back of his neck. Anders scrambled to his feet, reaching for his staff.

It all happened in a moment. His eyes darted from the whimpering animal to the woman stirring not twenty feet behind him, to the man with murder in his eyes running down the beach. Another arrow met the bowstring, this time pointed at Natale Hawke.

Blue light surged from his skin and eyes. He raced down the beach toward Sebastian, a maelstrom of magic and energy booming in his wake. "You will not hurt her!" he shouted, but his voice and body were no longer his own. He sensed fear, hate, and matched it with his own, stoking his rage into a literal inferno.

Arrow after arrow burned harmlessly to ash in the magical storm around him. Flame surged along his skin, and Sebastian's armor glowed blood red, the bow dissolving into ash in his hands. He dropped to his knees with a howl of pain just as he drew a knife from his belt.

The blade exploded in his hand, showering them both with white-hot shards and leaving nothing but a scorched stump behind. He dimly heard screaming, footsteps behind him, cries in the distance. Meaningless. Weak. He lifted the point of his staff above the prostrate man's chest.

_"Anders..."_

How dare he, after she spared him the first time? How dare he stand in the way of justice? How dare he turn on an ally after all she had done for him? He would die for his crimes a hundredfold. He would bend to the will of justice.

_"Anders, no!"_

And then he found himself on his knees. Sebastian curled up on the sand beside him. And Natale Hawke kneeling next to Sebastian, her grey eyes glassy and stricken.

All the rage, all the power, drained out of Anders at the look on her face. "He's not going to make it," she whispered. Anders blinked up at her, stunned.

"Calenhad."

She didn't need to ask twice once the meaning pierced his fogged mind. Though his legs felt like lead, Anders stumbled to his feet and grabbed his staff, running back toward the mabari bleeding into the sand.

Tears fell from Natale's eyes onto Sebastian's still-scorched armor, evaporating into little puffs of steam. "Why?" she whispered. "Why didn't you run? Why didn't you listen to me?" The scent of ozone and burning flesh stung her nostrils; Sebastian's face went ashen grey as he entered shock from the agony, blue eyes rolling into the back of his head.

She had spilled so much blood already. A little more on Sebastian's behalf was the least she could give to him. Blood flowed from her palms, holding him still. She rolled him onto his back, careful not to touch his burning armor, and took a deep breath.

She was no spirit healer like Anders, she would have to substitute blood for lyrium, and she had no Fade spirit to guide her. But she could still touch the Fade. Natale took several deep breaths to calm herself and reached into the Fade's flow, hoping her attempt at mercy did not cost her life.

The blood in her palms pooled and disappeared-golden light began swirling around them both before it coalesced around Sebastian's prone form. Magic surged through her open eyes, her fingers, light beginning to pour through her like a conduit. Just as the air began to burn in her lungs, Sebastian's limbs relaxed, his face smoothed, and his eyes slid closed. Natale collapsed on the sand beside him, letting go of the spell. Her head pounded, and she had to fight the urge to throw up. When the nausea of a spell far beyond her means began to fade, she forced herself up on shaking limbs to look at his face.

He was peaceful now. Calm. His battered chest rose and fell gently, though he was merely sleeping. She pulled her dagger from her belt and leaned over him, using both hands to steady her grip.

His life poured over her hands and arms as she cradled Sebastian like a child, until the last breath left his shattered body. Slowly, as though she'd aged a hundred years since Anders' shouts woke her, she laid him back down in the sand. Bit by bit, inch by painstaking inch, she started separating his armor from his scorched flesh. A red-gold sunrise loomed over the horizon by the time she was finished.

She dragged Sebastian's dead weight toward the water, leaving a streak of red in the sand behind them. Even the water and the foam turned dull crimson around them. Gently, she cleaned his wounds, his throat, tried her best to keep the sand from sticking to his skin. The waves nudged his body against hers, as though he was fighting not to drown in the bloody surf.

Anders splashed through the water behind her. He didn't meet her eyes. Wordlessly, he helped her pull Sebastian back onto shore. Helped her gather driftwood for a pyre, heave him over the top, and pile his armor at the base. Anders stepped back, his eyes blank and hollow inside his pale face.

It might be sacrilege. And Sebastian might not approve after all she had done. But she had to try. For herself, and for him. She crossed what remained of his arms across his chest and held her hand over his heart.

"Blessed be the souls of the faithful, that they ascend to Your right hand." Her voice shook, but grew stronger and clearer as she spoke. "Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young man a place at your side. Let him find peace in eternity."

Blue flames followed her fingertips along the wood. Natale bowed her head, forcing herself to stay and watch as Prince Sebastian Vael disappeared into smoke.

Maker help them all. It was all a waste. Such a waste.

She allowed Anders to lead her back to camp when the last of the flames began to die out. Calenhad lay on her pile of blankets, unmoving. She bit her lip against the tears, then stared in astonishment when the dog's nose twitched, and he started straining toward her.

"You saved him," she whispered. Calenhad stuck out the tip of his tongue to lick her hands and whined softly.

"I'm sorry," said Anders. "It was all I could do for him. I'm not sure if he'll fully recover." He didn't mention that he could hardly get Justice under control to get enough focus to heal. He was sure she already knew.

Natale gently scratched Calenhad behind the ears and took a deep breath, looking out to sea. The haunted look in her eyes lingered, but her usual steely determination began to return as she forced herself to come up with a plan. The only way onward was forward. "I'll get a message to Carver," she said quietly. "Calenhad can spend his twilight years with the Wardens in Vigil's Keep."

"And me?"

Anders looked at her with the same eyes as he had for the first three years after they met. Longing and guilt, hope and fear. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and the three of them watched the sun fully emerge over the horizon, the wind blow the last of the plume of ash and smoke out over the sea.

No compromise. No peace. But one day, it was all going to be worth the cost.

It had to be.


End file.
